


Badass New Yorkers: These Are Their Stories

by AuntieEm30



Series: Badass Virginians [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Law & Order
Genre: AU of my own AU, AU-90s L&O-verse, Accidental (Temporary) Child Acquisition, Child Neglect, Foster Care, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, non-explicit / off-page child abuse, police work in the 90s, single guy catches dad-feels, social work in the 90s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26452702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntieEm30/pseuds/AuntieEm30
Summary: AU of my “Badass Virginians” fic: George and Martha are aged up to be their same ages back in the 90s in NY in the L&O universe (they moved there after their college graduations for jobs, and begrudgingly put up with the city for the time being).Alex, a young kid, is staying with his cousin Peter, a New Yorker.  When he gets noticed taking care of himself to a suspicious degree, it gets reported to NYPD, and he gets removed from Peter’s custody, who is arrested by Detectives Mike Logan and Lennie Briscoe.  With CPS overworked, no emergency placements immediately available, and a kid who’s attached himself to him, Mike Logan steps up to bat and looks after him for a few days.  He didn’t anticipate it having such a strong effect on him.
Relationships: George Washington/Martha Washington, Lennie Briscoe & Mike Logan, Mike Logan & Alexander Hamilton
Series: Badass Virginians [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677925
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. The Finding

**Author's Note:**

> AND WHYYY-YYYYY DO I KEEP DOING THIIIIS TO MYSEEEEEE-EL-EL-EEELF????
> 
> IDEK. I realize this probably isn't a good time for a fic having to do with cops, but I got drawn into the original L&O (thanks again, mighty youtube algorithm), and I had some thoughts and feelings about what little I did see of Mike, while still trying to write for my main WIP, thus this weird brainchild was born.
> 
> Have at it.
> 
> Let me know if there's any questions or unclear things about the parameters of this AU of an AU.

“Your report says he came in the store for groceries by himself?” Detective Lennie Briscoe questioned the bodega clerk seated beside his desk.

“A few times,” Rob clarified. “And most of those times were when a kid his age shouldn’t be out of the house alone.”

“What times, would you say?” Lennie’s partner Mike Logan asked.

“Eleven, eleven-thirty, one time even at one.”

“So, going unsupervised at night. Any other signs of neglect?”

“He was always pretty skinny,” Rob answered. “Hair was kinda greasy-looking sometimes. Always bought necessities like bread and eggs, no candy or pop like you’d expect a kid to get. Always paid in cash, usually coins. His clothes are always pretty old too; his shoes have tape on ‘em. Haven’t seen him wearing a real coat in a while, even this last time on Wednesday. And one time he was sportin’ a big bruise on the side of his face.”

“Good enough for me,” Mike muttered. Lennie noticed how his partner’s jaw had tightened, before turning back to the witness.

“What made you decide to report it this last time?”

“Aside from not having a coat in in barely 40 degrees? He was skittish - more than normally, I mean. In a real hurry to get done and get back. Like he was worried about something.”

“Yeah - or scared of someone noticing him gone,” Mike added, giving Lennie a pointed look.

“Anything else you can tell us about locating him?”

“Don’t know his address, but his bus for kindergarten drops him off and picks him up right across the street. I got the bus number here,” Rob added, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. 

“Thanks. You think of anything else, give us a call,” Lennie told the clerk, handing him a business card, which the young man took along with the dismissal, standing and leading for the exit. 

“He was more helpful than most,” Lennie noted after the clerk left. “Use the bus to find the school, use the school to find the address.”

“Yeah,” the younger detective nodded tersely, getting to work without any of his and Lennie’s usual quips. Lennie frowned knowingly. Both men had personal reasons for hating cases of child neglect or abuse… he could only hope his partner wouldn’t have too many bad memories dredged up.

****************

In the morgue, Martha Washington prepared the latest body to be picked up and transported to the appropriate funeral home. She hated when it was a young one that passed through. it was all the more senseless, all the more unnatural, all the more unfair.

And, lately, it reminded her morosely of what she and George were trying to accomplish. Despite the fact that she was only a tech at this point in her career and didn’t perform the truly gruesome examinations like the M.E. did, there was still a degree of irony in going through the process required to be trusted with a young life while working routinely with so much death.

They’d done their extensive interviews, they’d done their home inspection. Now it was yet another waiting game.

She looked out the window at the bare and nearly-bare trees nearby, knowing that George would be patrolling Central Park on Sampson right about now. She hoped he didn’t run into any problems, and that they could both be home at a reasonable hour, and they could have Chinese and cuddle on the couch.

And she would resolutely forgo picking up a bottle of wine on the way home, despite the depressing nature of this latest cadaver.

****************

Mike rapped sharply on the apartment door. The kindergarten administrator had given them the address of the child ( _Alexander Hamilton_ ), which had led them to this rather ill-kept building. The administrator also gave some information the two detectives found quite interesting, which would have to be addressed later.

He knocked again, louder, before a man in his early twenties wearing a dirty mechanical uniform slowly opened the door.

“What is it?” he asked, not looking directly at either of them, eyes unfocused. They both frowned, able to infer immediately that he was under the influence of something.

“Are you Peter Hamilton?” Lennie asked.

“Yeah? So?”

Lennie and Mike held up their badges in tandem. “Detectives Briscoe and Logan. We’re here about your cousin Alexander.”

“Oh, him. Look, whatever he did, I’m not gonna cover for him.” He turned away from the detectives and ambled further into the apartment, having clear balance issues. Lennie and Mike exchanged dark looks, before following him in. 

The apartment was nearly freezing cold; the heat had either stopped working or had been shut off. Mike knew which option he found more likely.

“I’ll find the kid,” he muttered. Lennie nodded in acknowledgment, intending to watch Peter and make observations about the living environment. 

“What might he have done that would bring us here?” Mike heard Lennie ask as he went down the hall; he didn’t clearly hear the reply.

As he made his way looking for the kid, he took in the apartment itself as had become second nature. What stood out to him was the patchiness of the housekeeping (and lack thereof): Parts of the apartment were somewhat clean, as if someone had done their best with limited resources, and not-great coordination. But those parts stopped at about waist high on him. As if someone much smaller than a healthy adult had done the haphazard cleaning.

As he was passing what was likely a linen closet, he heard a faint noise.

The smallest, most muffled sneeze.

Bingo.

He opened the closet door slowly, crouching down. In the corner, beside a pile of boxes with his arms wrapped around his knees, was a small dark-haired boy.

“Hey, buddy,” Mike called in soothingly, showing his empty hands non-threateningly. “I’m here to help you. You wanna come out?” 

The boy looked back with wide eyes.

“Who’re you?”

Mike knew the truth was a gamble, but he told it anyway.

“I’m a cop, my name’s Mike. Your friend Rob at the store was worried, he sent us to come check on you.” He reached into the closet to coax the child out, but his hand was batted away with a childish lack of strength.

“Liar!”

Mike leaned back to regroup, considering. His legs were starting to protest the crouch, so he settled onto his hands and knees.

“Why would I lie about Rob being worried about you, Alexander? That is your name, right?”

The little boy nodded reluctantly, his eyes wide under his bangs. Mike figured he would have heard certain things about cops (and possibly social workers, if he knew what they were), and while he couldn’t refute those things across the whole profession, he wasn’t about to give up.

“He really did want me and my buddy to come check on you, Alexander. He remembers you buying food late at night and not wearing a coat. He wants me to make sure that you’re warm and safe and aren’t going hungry. I can help make that happen. Don’t you want that?”

He nodded tentatively, still obviously unsure. Mike held out a hand again, slowly.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Alexander. I might not always have the right information to tell you, and there might be things I have to keep secret so some people can be safe, but I won’t lie to you, and I won’t hurt you. Will you come out?”

Finally, slowly, the boy shifted, and crawled out of the closet, and stood still as Mike briefly checked him over for injuries.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Alex shook his head, but when Mike put a precautionary hand to his forehead, his skin was far too cold. He quickly shucked off his leather jacket and wrapped it around Alex, engulfing him in the material and the residual body heat it carried. Gently picking him up, he stood and went back to his partner, who already had Peter in cuffs.

“There’s plenty evidence here. Already Mirandized him,” Lennie told him. “No point in questioning him further till he’s lucid. We’ll call CPS from the car and have them meet us at the precinct.” Mike nodded, following them out with Alex in his arms.


	2. The Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex, unexpectedly left in the custody of the detectives, quietly decides that Mike is his rescuer, and acts accordingly. Mike responds to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do want to get this completed and posted in entirety sooner rather than later, so I can put it to bed and it can stop taking up brain space and I can get back to my main fic. Fortunately, I know this will be only a few more chapters and a good portion of them are already written in part or at least vaguely shaped in my head.

The four had already been back at the precinct — Peter in holding, Lennie, Mike, and Alex at the detectives’ desks — for forty-five minutes when Van Buren came out of her office after taking a call.

“Bad news, guys. CPS just called, two group homes in Queens just got busted for abuse, fraud, and drug distribution.”

“A triple threat, huh?” Lennie quipped grimly.

“The whole New York agency is swamped trying to find emergency placements for those kids, they won’t have even an agent to spare until at least tomorrow.”

Both men shook their heads in disappointment (at humanity, mostly), and Mike glanced over to see that Alex, still wrapped in the jacket that dwarfed him, had shrunk in on himself defensively. Mike realized it must have been in reaction to hearing the word ‘drug’.

“Hey, it’s okay, buddy,” he assured, reaching out slowly to pat the boy’s shoulder. This time, he didn’t flinch away. “None of that bad stuff’s gonna get to you here. I promised, right?”

Alex nodded silently. He hadn’t said another word since they left that freezing, grungy apartment.

“So, that’s that,” Mike concluded with a somewhat awkward shrug. “You’re just gonna be here with us a while longer. That’s not too bad, right?” A tentative shake of the head. 

“You hungry, kid?” Lennie prompted, knowing they’d have to see to his basic needs for the time being.

A shy nod. Mike nodded in return.

“Alright. I’ll go get you a snack from the machine-“

He’d barely stood from his seat when a tiny hand shot out from the folds of the coat, and grabbed hold of his, freezing him in place.

“Okay,” Mike said after a moment, “we can go together, you can pick out what you want. How’s that?”

A cautious smile bloomed on Alex’s face — the first they’d seen since finding him — and he climbed down from the chair, not relinquishing Mike’s hand, the bottom of the coat fluttering around his ankles like a cloak, and the detective and the boy made their way down the isle between desks toward the vending machines.

Anita shook her head watching them, a sad smile on her face.

“You might want to be ready to question Peter Hamilton on your own,” she told Lennie. “Looks like Mike is gonna have a duckling in his shadow for a while.”

Lennie grinned wryly at her in parental solidarity. “Wait ‘till he finds out about using the bathroom with one.”

***************

Mike did find out, sooner than Lennie would have anticipated, though not quite in the way he meant. Not long after Alex finished a small pack of crackers and a drink from the machines, he tugged on the edge of Mike’s suit jacket and quietly informed him of his need for the John. After leading him there, Mike realized a problem: Alex was still too short to use the toilet effectively on his own, and the men’s room in the 2-7 didn’t exactly keep step-stools for very short users. 

The solution turned out to be Mike lifting Alex by the armpits from behind and letting him stand on the porcelain rim, keeping a hand on his shoulder to steady him but looking away when the boy asked him to. After Alex finished and admirably re-situated himself, Mike repeated the maneuver so he could wash his hands, before leading him back to the bull pen.

By then, it seemed Peter had come down enough to be relatively clear-headed, as Lennie was with him in the interrogation room, Van Buren outside watching through the glass. Mike coaxed Alex to let go of his hand and sit beside his desk again before he joined his Lieutenant at the window. 

“Anything good so far?” She let out a huff of dry satisfaction.

“Plenty. Apparently the guy was itching to vent his frustrations about being volunteered as a child’s emergency guardian — didn’t matter who the ear was attached to. Plus we’ve got the needles left lying out in the open at the apartment, just to start with. Pretty much as clean of a case as they come.” She paused once Mike nodded, before continuing. “Stone will still want a statement from Alex, though, to go with his medical exam. Just to make sure all the boxes are checked.” 

Mike’s mouth thinned into a hard line. He understood the need for interviewing the boy… didn’t mean he had to like it. Not that any of them did, he knew.

******************

George gave one final sweep of the curry comb, before dropping it into the gear bucket and patting Sampson affectionately, getting lightly nudged by a large, soft muzzle in return. Picking up the bucket, he untied Sampson’s lead from the wall and led him back to his stall, their patrol over for the day. He’d been damn lucky with this job, he was more than willing to admit. Getting to spend his days with an agreeable animal, monitoring and enjoying some of the only green places in this city? Please and thank you.

After leaving Sampson in his stall for the night and putting his tack away, he made his way to the office to sign out, only to be summoned by the administrative officer.

“One moment, he just came in,” Jackson told whoever was on the line. “Washington, it’s for you.” George took the phone, concerned. Martha didn’t usually call him at the station unless it was an emergency, so…

“This is Washington,” he greeted.

“Mr. Washington,” the voice on the line replied, “it’s Dominic.”

Oh. Dominic Ramirez, their social worker and foster care liaison. George wasn’t sure whether to be worried or excited.

“Dominic, hi. This is unusual. Did something happen?”

“You could say that,” Dominic replied. “Listen, we’ve got a situation. We just had two group homes in Queens get busted for some bad crap and all their kids taken into protective custody.”

“Oh my god.” George let himself sink absently into the chair by the admin’s desk. “That- that’s terrible! Those kids… Wait,” he paused, trying to catch on to what wasn’t being said. “Does that mean Martha and I..?”

“Not necessarily,” Dominic replied reluctantly. “These kids are gonna be under a lot of stress, not just from the environment they’re being taken away from but also the uprooting itself. They’re gonna be confused, upset, some will probably defensive and combative, likely to lash out. The bosses want them placed with more experienced families if possible.”

“Oh,” George replied, his shoulders falling. He wanted whatever was best for those kids, but how could he and Martha _get_ experienced if the system didn’t let them at least try?

“That being said, there might not be enough experienced families to cover it, so I’d be prepared for a short-notice placement, just in case.” 

George sat up straighter. “Oh! Okay, will do. I’ll let Martha know tonight.”

“Thanks, George. She must be up to her elbows in it, because I couldn’t reach her. I’ll be in touch.”

George bid him farewell and they hung up, the former with a pensive expression as he handed the receiver back to Jackson. 

So many hurt, confused kids. He hoped they could be taken care of (properly, this time), even if it wasn’t with him and Martha. That didn’t stop him from also for hoping for their own sake.

*****************

Once Lennie was finished questioning Peter, he and Mike next had to take Alex to the hospital for a medical examination as part of the police report. This time, after the doctor explained what needed to be done, it was Alex’s worried eyes darting to his face that gave Mike pause.

“You want me to stay here in the room?” A grateful nod, almost before he was done asking. He looked over the doctor to confirm it was allowed.

“If it helps him feel more secure, then by all means, Detective,” she said cheerfully, before giving Alex a thin gown to change into. He took it silently with all the seriousness of being given a great responsibility, before retreating behind the curtain. When he came out changed, he let Mike lift him again onto the examination table, before backing away to a chair in the corner. Lennie, in the meantime, had gone to speak to someone at the Methadone clinic, since Peter had started showing symptoms of withdrawal that could complicate the eventual trial. 

Mike supposed, by the end of the examination, that he should be grateful it wasn’t worse. The few bruises visible were small and not indicative of serious injury. Most of them even could have been accidental, though he was skeptical. The worst concerns were malnutrition and resulting lower-than-healthy weight, minor second-hand smoke inhalation that could cause lung problems later, and poor dental hygiene. Either Alex was never taught how to brush his teeth, or his most recent guardian didn’t put any effort into making sure it was done regularly.

No signs of sexual abuse, thank god.

Still, with every issue that was added to the medical file, and every instance of dark, timid eyes finding him in the corner as though to make sure he was still there, Mike felt another small impact in his gut. He didn’t quite notice when his arms crossed over his chest, and he hunched down in his seat, as though to protect his own internal organs.

He was grateful when the exam was over, and the file was closed as though it could shut away all the painful information. It was late in the afternoon by the time their business was over, Lennie had returned and they left the hospital, and the sun was sinking toward the horizon as they returned to the 2-7.

*****************

Dim afternoon sunlight quickly transformed into dusk, then into darkness after they returned to the precinct, and gradually the bull pen grew quieter and more empty before the night crew trickled in. Mike knocked on the door frame of Van Buren’s office.

“Yes?”

“Lieutenant, I’d like to take Alex to my place for the night. Get him cleaned up, get him a real meal, take him away from all of… this,” he gestured vaguely to the whole precinct, “for a while.” Van Buren looked at him steadily for a moment.

“What are you asking, Mike?”

He let out a scoff. “Whether do that will get me or him in any trouble.”

She was silent for a while, before the corner of her mouth turned up. 

“If anyone asks questions, I’ll vouch for you. Until CPS catches up, we’re responsible for him. His statement can wait ‘till tomorrow. Take him home for a while.”

Mike nodded with a relieved grin. “Thanks.”

She nodded as he left the office, and she watched him collect Alex through the window pensively. She could see something taking shape in the detective, something she very much recognized. She hoped it wouldn’t spell trouble for him or the little boy in the coming days, but considering how life and their jobs treated them, she wasn’t holding her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there's anything unclear of any little things y'all have questions on in this fic.


	3. The Nurturing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike takes Alex to his home for the night, with all the processes and emotional hurdles that go with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't feature the Washingtons, because it's all basically one long sequence, but they'll be back.

On the way to his apartment, and upon their arrival there, Mike belatedly put serious consideration into what he was actually doing. Yes, going beyond the ‘getting the kid a proper meal meant not cheating with fast food or takeout.’ Mentally going over what he had in his apartment, or what he could quickly pick up at the corner store, for different purposes. He wanted to get some calories into Alex, but not empty ones. Something relatively high in protein, but easy for an under-nourished stomach to digest. Would fish-fingers and potatoes work? Maybe push his luck and add in an actual vegetable? (How small would the potatoes have to be cut to pose no choking risk to a six-year-old?)

Then there was the matter of sleeping arrangements. Yes, his couch was far more comfortable than the one in the 2-7’s break room, and he had enough spare blankets and pillows, but he didn’t have pajamas that would fit Alex. On the other hand, he was no slouch at problem-solving, and what he did have was some clean workout gear. The kid would be drowning even in Mike’s smallest t-shirt and the athletic shorts would fit more like the weird wide-legged pants teens wore nowadays, but they weren’t going for high fashion here.

Alex had maintained his silence during the whole ride to Mike’s apartment — he was starting to see an unsettling pattern here — and only nodded when Mike told him he could look around while he made dinner. He figured the kid couldn’t get into anything dangerous, but made sure to keep looking over while he chopped and boiled the potatoes while the oven pre-heated for the fish sticks. 

Once while he was chopping, he saw the small figure approach out of the corner of his eye, and watch him curiously. Hesitating a moment, he cut a slim piece of the clean root and offered it to his small, skinny shadow.

“My mom told us they weren’t mean to be eaten raw, but we always snuck a piece anyway,” he said conspiratorially. Cautiously, Alex mirrored his smile and accepted the potato chunk. When he put it in his mouth, he seemed to delight in the stinging, starchy crunch… and Mike didn’t want to put a name to how that simple joy made him feel.

After, when Alex seemed to be wandering around his living space listlessly, Mike paused in his work. “You wanna watch TV until this is ready?” He had a section of books in his apartment, but he didn’t think any of them would be interesting (or comprehensible) to such a young kid.

Alex’s brows furrowed in suspicion.

“‘m allowed?”

Mike frowned. “Yeah, of course, bud. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

He put down his cooking utensils, he went into the living room, turning on the TV. Mike knew his hearing was healthy, but apparently it wasn’t nearly as sensitive as Alex’s, because as soon as sounds started emanating from the set’s speakers the boy flinched, and snatched the remote from the coffee table, fumbling with the buttons until the volume was down in the single digits. Only when the TV was extremely quiet did his thin shoulders relax. Mike frowned again, this time in confusion.

“What’s the matter? Are a lot of sounds really loud to you?”

Alex shook his head. “Not t’me,” he mumbled. “Can’t disturb others.” 

His word choice, and tone of voice, gave the distinct impression that he was repeating something he’d been told… probably more than once.

Oh. _Damn it_.

He should have realized. After all, he’d known a great deal about ‘disturbing others’ at that age and near it, hadn’t he? His dear old lady had made quite sure of it.

He let Alex flip through the channels at his leisure while he went back to the kitchen, vaguely hypothesizing that the small freedom of having a choice in what he watched would be more relevant in the grand scheme of things than the negligible risk of catching some program inappropriate for his age in the time available. 

When everything was ready (and Mike had approximated a portion size for the kid that would be enough to help him but not too much as to make him sick), he ambled back into the living room, only to pause, his eyes pinned to the TV screen.

“What the hell?” he muttered. Ironically, Alex didn’t seem at all repulsed or traumatized by the weird-science violence happening on screen, but was watching with rapt attention. When he got a clue about the program once it went to commercial break, Mike shook his head in befuddlement. “This show is meant for kids?” he wondered out loud, half to himself. Alex shrugged in response. Mike shrugged in return, deciding not to dwell on it. 

“Alright, you can watch more later if you want, bud. But time for dinner now.” That got Alex moving, quickly turning off the TV and jumping down from the couch, showing more energy than Mike had seen so far since their initial closet meeting. When they went to the kitchen table, Mike stayed nearby in case Alex needed a hand climbing up into his chair, but it ended up not being needed.

While they ate, Mike used the opportunity to observe Alex, get a sense of where he was development-wise, take note of any difficulties or hangups so he could pass the information on to his eventual foster family. The kid seemed to handle his fork well enough, and looked to be making a conscious effort to eat neatly and make as little mess as possible (though Mike wondered if that was also a souvenir of a hyper-critical so-called caregiver, like the thing with the TV). 

“You like it?” he asked at one point.

Alex nodded eagerly, swallowing before looking down at his plate in contemplation. He pointed at the sticks.

“Tastes new. What’re they?”

The kid had never had something so simple before? Jesus Christ, just how little had Peter Hamilton been providing for him?

“They’re fish sticks. They’re… well, they’re kind of good for you.”

“Fish…” Alex repeated, more to himself than to Mike, looking back down at his plate. To the detective’s surprise, about thirty seconds later an amused grin slowly spread on the thin face, before Alex speared another stick on his fork. “Fish heads, fish heads… eat them up! Yum!” he finished the quiet but enthusiastic ditty with a declarative chomp of the fish stick.

If questioned later, there would be equal chance of Mike confirming or denying that he grinned like a sap in response. 

After dinner came the more challenging hurdle: namely, his nose telling him that the little boy hadn’t bathed in rather longer than the roughly six hours he’d been in the precinct’s custody, and however long it had been, it needed to be rectified. Problem was, there was so much he didn’t know about what was necessary versus what would be appropriate in terms of him giving assistance. He decided to approach it with the same level of tact (if not precisely the same tactics) he used when questioning witnesses. 

“I think this would be a good time for certain young guys to take a shower, Alex,” he began casually, giving him a leading tap on the shoulder. “Can you handle that okay on your own?”

The boy nodded confidently, but Mike retained a degree of skepticism.

“What about washing your hair?” The dark locks were visibly greasy and a bit matted.

Alex deflated a bit a that, frowning down at the apartment floor.

“Burns.”

Ah. The age-old “shampoo in the eyes” dilemma. 

“I can help with that,” he offered reassuringly.

He got the water started, remembered to check the temperature, and let Alex scrub himself down and rinse his body on his own first, leaving the bathroom door open a few inches in case he was called on to help. After, when Alex had essentially burrito’ed himself in the towel Mike left, Mike joined him again. He then stood there awkwardly several seconds, deliberating, before deciding on a method. He retrieved a bowl from the kitchen, and got the boy to sit on the edge of the tub facing it, his feet back in the water so he could lean forward and let Mike pour water over his head and apply the shampoo, guarding his eyes with one hand and gently rubbing the suds into the messy dark strands with the other. 

And as Alex gradually relaxed under the ministrations, so did Mike (despite the awkward sitting position that made certain muscles in his back start to protest). With his sleeves rolled up and the warm water running over his hands and forearms, and the gentle rhythmic motions of rubbing the shampoo in and rinsing it out, he had the strangest sense of a wave of… _something_ slowly come over him. Something old, older than any of his own adulthood experiences, yet also new. Something unfamiliar but intuitive.

This felt easy — it felt _right_.

 _Don’t kid yourself_ , he cut the previous thoughts off bitterly. This _was_ the easy part: seeing to a child’s bare minimum needs on an extremely short-term basis. Everything else…

After the soap had been totally rinsed out, and Alex’s hair toweled dry to the best of Mike’s ability, and he’d decided he could tackle the teeth issue tomorrow morning, came the final task of the night: putting Alex to bed. It was relatively easy since he was nodding off after the bath anyway, though that meant Mike had to help him put on the makeshift sleep clothes. He’d thought Alex was already dead to the world when he’d softly laid him on the couch and covered him with the folded-over quilt his sister had given him as a house-warming present. That hadn’t quite been the case, however, because those dark eyes had cracked open a fraction to seek him out again.

“Th’nks,” the little boy slurred, fighting the pull a moment. “Like it here. You’re nice.” And before Mike could even summon a response, Alex had gone under, off to dream land.

Mike stared at the relaxed face resting on the couch’s throw pillow, suddenly unable to even move. He’d been called a lot of things in his life: some of them he really didn’t like to think about (like _burden_ ), others he’d accepted at face value, usually with good humor. Hot-headed. Casanova. Stubborn. _Mick_. 

‘Nice’ usually wasn’t people’s first choice of a descriptor for him.

He swallowed, and remained kneeling by the couch for several more moments before he reluctantly stood and slowly prepared himself for bed.

He’d worried that, due to the environment he’d been taken from, Alex might have nightmares or not sleep through the night. This fortunately turned out to not be the case.

Mike, on the other hand, didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I welcome comments or questions! Question of my own, for anyone who wants to answer: who's coming here from my main Hamilton fic, who's coming to my fics for the first time from the L&O fandom, and who's in both (or am I in that niche intersection by myself lol)
> 
> On a different note, gotta love the research that springs up from fic writing. At no other time, for example, will my search history include such diverse questions as "when can kids bathe on their own?" "What TV shows were popular in the 90s?" and simply "fish heads song."


End file.
